Craving Denial
by tigerrose110203
Summary: An exploration into the sexual cravings of one Hermione Granger. SSHG, EWE, BDSM, explicit language and adult themes. Do not read if underage.
1. Chapter 1

Her forehead smacked against the headboard but she couldn't seem to care. Frizzy curls damp with perspiration went tumbling about her shoulders and face as Hermione blithely ignored the continued pounding her brow was taking in favor of the pounding her cunt was currently taking from her rather dour colleague.

She could hear him grunting, could picture the sweat dripping from his overly large nose as it made contact with her spine. His labored breaths cooled her skin as his bony hips snapped into her backside again and again.

"Fuck, you've got suck a tight little cunnie, Granger," he said, his normal velvet tones interrupted by the heaving breaths he took.

Hermione looked over her shoulder, twisted at the waist to get a quick glance at the man who gave her so much pleasure. Before she could garner much about his current state he shoved her head back around and began thrusting, smacking against her bare arse with even more gusto while his hand snaked into her hair, clenching tight.

"No, little witch, you keep your head down. You'll take what I give you and be thankful for it," he sneered, his thrusts becoming jerky and erratic. She knew he was close. Knew the quick show of dominance would bring him even more pleasure. As would her next words.

"Yes, Sir," Hermione moaned. "Please forgive me. Fuck me, Sir, please! Don't stop!" she pleaded, knowing it aroused him to hear her so wanton.

"I love it when you own me, Sir. When you use me. Please, I'll do whatever you ask, just don't stop. Don't stop until you come inside me," Hermione's words were breathy, low, and moaned between whacks against the wood before her.

At her words, Hermione felt Snape's hard, slick chest pressing against her shoulder blades. His height gave him a definite advantage. She shivered, clutching the bedsheets as his wet, slick tongue traced the line of her shoulder up to her ear.

"What a naughty little girl you are, Granger, begging me like that. You like feeling my cum inside you? Like knowing it's dripping out of that hot little box and soaking your knickers all day long?" She could practically see his nostrils flaring, his crooked, yellowed teeth bared in derision at his words. Words that made her wetter. Made her arch her spine in invitation. She wished she could see that look for herself. Seeing it would make her come, she was sure.

Gods, she loved how his appearance. She couldn't explain it. Severus Snape was not a handsome man. He could not be considered physically attractive by any classical or popular means of measure. He was exceedingly tall, too thin and too pale with greasy, stringy black hair, a nose best described as Roman or aristocratic, though it was often called much worse, eyes blacker than ink, and teeth that would have made her dentist parents shiver in revulsion.

He was, in no uncertain terms, ugly. Very ugly. Repulsive to some, in fact. Though, to Hermione, he was mouth-wateringly attractive. She found his beetle-black eyes arresting, his sneer alluring, and that incredibly large nose far sexier than anyone could imagine. Oh, the things he could do with that nose. He was such a talented man.

Hermione found that his greasy hair, yellowed teeth, his pale, scarred body and stringy muscles turned her on. She couldn't understand it. No one got tuned on by ugly, hawkish features and sarcasm so sharp it could cut even the bravest of men down to size. No one dreamed of making those thin lips open wide with a groan of sexual ecstasy. No one wanted to be on their knees swallowing hot spurts of semen shooting from Snape's admittedly large, thick, and deliciously veined cock.

But Hermione Granger did. She fantasized about it all the time. From her first month back at Hogwarts, she'd been fantasizing about him.

As a student she'd had a minor crush on the man, but that was due mainly to his intelligence. Now, as a fellow professor, she found him damn near irresistible. Why his physical unattractiveness, his gruff behavior, and his sarcastic wit attracted her, she could not fathom. But every time she was in the same room with the man, she wanted to drop to her knees and suck him off, no matter where they were.

It was baffling, this insatiable hunger of hers. If she didn't know better, she'd swear she'd been dosed with a lust potion. But such a thing was not only unthinkable, it was ridiculous. No lust potion lasted this long.

It had been years. Four years, to exact, since she'd returned to her former school as the resident Charms mistress. Four years since she began behaving like a wanton harlot where Severus Snape was concerned. Four years of yearning, dropping hints, leaving gifts, asking for private assistance, doing damn near anything to get that man's attention. It was only in the last few months that had he begun to reciprocate her affections, if only in the physical realm.

Theirs was a simple arrangement. Snape fucked her. Whenever, wherever, and however he wished. Hermione let him. She let him do unspeakable things to her. Things she hadn't ever dreamed of doing with a man. Oh, but she dreamed of them now. She dreamed of them all the time.

Their current session had her face down, hands and ankles shackled to the four posters of her bed, while Snape relentlessly thrust into her wet hole. He would begin slow, build to a frenzy of quick, powerful strokes, then, right before orgasm, he would stop, pull out, and leave her helplessly dangling on the precipice of release. She had long since lost her will to resist. She'd both ground herself down against her sheets and raised her ass high in the air, knees wide for his perusal as she mindlessly searched for his shaft. Both actions had earned her swift, hard spankings against her arse cheeks and inner thighs. The arse-spanking she could handle but the thighs… the thighs were murder.

This time, however, Snape was not stopping. Perhaps he had finally tired of his game, Hermione thought. She didn't know, didn't really care, so long as he kept pumping into her. Hermione was so very, very close to finding her pleasure. Only the erratic movements of his hips deterred her. If he could just hit her a few more times, just a few more, in rhythm, Hermione was sure she would come.

Shackles digging into her wrists, Hermione pressed her small hands into the mattress while she surreptitiously began rocking back onto Snape's cock, her moaning increasing in volume as her blood pulsed and her inner walls began to clench.

Snape's fingers dug into her skull before releasing her and slapping her hip hard.

"Hold still, you little slut," he hissed. "You come only when I want you to, not before," his voice closer to Hermione's ear than she had anticipated. His warm breath fanned across her shoulder, making her roll her head back in order to catch the scent of his words. The weirdest things turned her on, it seemed.

"Please, Sir! Please, I need to come! Please!" Hermione nearly sobbed, her fingers clutching the sheets beneath her in her turmoil.

"You know what I want, Miss Granger," he said, his voice filled with triumph. "Give me what I want. Call me what I want, what you need. Acknowledge this for what it is, and I will let you come all over my hard rod. Doesn't that sound good, Granger? Just one little word. Say it!" he commanded.

Hermione growled, gnashing her teeth and physically biting her tongue in order to stop herself from giving in.

This had been the one step she hadn't taken for him. The one scrap of her pride she hadn't given up. But Merlin, was she having trouble not submitting now.

As Snape's hips snapped into her, Hermione fought with herself. Was momentary pleasure worth the loss of all her Gryffindor pride? Was watching his eyes shine with victory at every stolen glance worth the few minutes of complete ecstasy she would experience when she bowed to his desires?

Her skull continued to bang against the headboard and she grew closer. Closer to coming, closer to surrendering. Pressing back against the vile, irresistible man, Hermione finally gave in. Months of arguing, years of yearning, a lifetime of denying all combined to give the ruddy bastard exactly what he wanted. Her complete surrender.

"Master," she whispered, her voice nearly cracking at the end. "Master," she said again, stronger this time. "Master," she breathed, letting the words flow from her. "Master, I'm yours."

White lightning exploded at the base of her spine, her skin blazing around her wrists, ankles and throat, lighting up the room like an inferno as the spell came to completion. Hermione started to scream at the agony of it.

Before sound left her lips the pain turned to pleasure and she came, screaming her release as the sudden rush of sensations.

Her walls clamped down, milking Snape's load deep into her womb and finalizing the covenant between them. It was done. She was his.

As the high of her climax ebbed, she shuddered in disbelief. Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Professor, War Hero, and long-touted Brightest Witch of Her Age had willingly consented to become the sexual property of one Severus Tobias Snape.

She sighed. It was done. And by the lightening of the weight in her chest, Hermione suspected that deep down, it was what she really wanted. To be owned. To be used. To be cherished and held close and seen as something other than a fucking Hogwarts Professor, a War Hero, or the Brightest Witch of Her Age.

Finally, _finally_ , she was just his.

Hermione highly doubted that any of his seed would ever get the chance to leak out onto her knickers. It would be too busy searing through her body and claiming ownership over Snape's newest acquisition to ever get the chance to soak her crotch or smear against her thighs.

Disappointing, really. Hermione quite enjoyed the sensation of being covered in his grime. But then, she had a lifetime of that awaiting her now so she didn't much trouble herself over it.


	2. Chapter 2

Anti-Litigation Charm: Do not own, do not own, do not own! All familiar characters, settings, and plot devices belong to JK Rowling. I thank her for allowing us the use of her characters and for not causing too much fuss at the fandom's blatant disregard for canon where Severus Snape is concerned.

Hermione huffed, blowing her curls out of her face irritatedly. The heat was getting to her. She had no idea why this past summer had been so bloody hot but she strongly suspected the muggles were right. Global warming. Bloody fantastic.

Puffing her way up the path from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts, she became increasingly irritated.

She cursed the heat, the ground, and her ex-boss for causing her such a headache that she'd accepted the post at Hogwarts in the first place! Not that she didn't love her Alma Mater with all her heart, but she was still a young, newly-single, and intelligent witch. Being cloistered up in the wilds of Scotland did not fare well for her love or social life, not to mention any possible advancement in her chosen career.

"Not that my career is really going places anymore anyway," Hermione grumbled. "Not if Crowfoot has a say." At least Hogwarts would still afford her the opportunity for some intelligent conversation.

She'd been an Unspeakable. The youngest Unspeakable in over 200 years. She was quite proud of that and of her double Masters status in both Charms and Arithmancy. The combination had earned her dozens of job offers long before her apprenticeships had been finished. Still, Hermione had persevered. She'd worked 'til her ears bled, literally, and had followed her dreams straight into the Department of Mysteries.

But, after three years of bending to the will of her boss, the Minister, and the Wizengamot, she'd had enough. In a fit of temper, Hermione quit. It had been a long time coming in her opinion. Her most recent relationship had ended poorly and her boss, Angelina Crowfoot, had pushed her just a little too far. She'd insinuated that Hermione's ex had been 'making the rounds' with all the female Unspeakables, Angelina included.

It was just too bad for the wretched cow, she mused, recalling the hex she'd performed. Angelina's disfigurement would make Marietta Edgecombe look attractive, even if it would wear off eventually.

Hermione's temper rarely got the better of her, but oh, when it did. The pleasure she took in Angelina's pain was positively Slytherin and she relished it. Cloven feet, large, black and white ears, cud-chewing teeth, a tail, and sideways facing eyes so that she might see the disgust and scorn plastered on the faces of those near her. A fitting punishment for the cow.

Hermione's expression was one of painful amusement as her features attempted to scowl and smirk at the same time as the image of Jerome, her ex, 'making the rounds' with cow-faced Crowfoot now.

 _Thwap!_

"Ahhh!" Hermione cried out in pain, tripping over a large hole in the road and snapping her heel. She fell heavily to the ground, scraping her hands, forearms, and knees against the gravel-strewn path. She cursed her heeled shoes along with herself. Why, oh why, had she decided to wear a pant suit? To make an impression? Hah! She was Hermione Bloody Granger! War Hero, Brightest Witch of Her Age, and soon to be successful Hogwarts Professor. What more impression did she need to give?

Smacking her hand against the ground in frustration, she heard a loud snap.

"Nooo!" she groaned, agonized with the realization that she had snapped yet another wand. That was the third one this year! Ever since she'd lost her favored vine wood and dragon heartstring two years before she simply hadn't been able to hang onto a wand. And her clumsiness had skyrocketed. It was like she'd been cursed but every time she ran a diagnostic on herself, she came back clean. She'd even had a fellow Unspeakable run one on her and still, nothing. It was just one more mystery that came out of the department of them.

Glancing down at the broken shaft of wood now sticking out of her arm holster, she pulled herself up gingerly, limping to a nearby shaded boulder and taking shelter from the sun and pain that was shooting up her right shin and knee.

Grumbling to herself, Hermione debated over her course of action. She could either wait around for some kindly soul to aid her or she could brave all and limp her sweating, injured, and disheveled form up to the castle gates and hope that Minerva or Snape had reset the wards to include her.

Taking a moment to collect her strength and attempt to fix her broken heel, Hermione reflected on the days of her youth and her infamous beaded bag. Oh, what she would give to

have that handy little bit of contraband with her now. She'd have all her belongings stuffed into that Mary Poppins purse, including an extra wand, some dittany, and another pair of shoes!

Technically, undetectable extension charms weren't quite illegal. They did, however, require a permit. A permit that Angelina Crowfoot was only too happy to deny Hermione when she discovered the beaded bag. She'd really had that hex coming.

Giving up the heel as a bad job, Hermione braced herself for an uncomfortable walk and the possibility of being stranded outside the castle gates overnight. She didn't think she could manage the trek back to Hogsmeade though she hoped she wouldn't have to find out.

She stood with a groan and kicked off her other shoe, wincing at the gravel and twig covered path. Still, the tiny pinpricks of pain were better than the shooting pains of limping in heels with a knee injury, so off she went.

After a strenuous hike up to the metal gates of Hogwarts Hermione was disappointed to find that she had not been given access to the wards yet. She huffed again, collapsing against the iron gates and attempting to think her way out of her current situation.

She oughtn't be surprised, really. Snape was Deputy Headmaster and that old sourpuss would likely go to any length to make Hermione's tenure at the school as irritating as possible. The man was a war hero. Selfless, brave, intelligent, inventive, curious, cunning, loyal, and logically-minded. He was the best possible combination of the qualities of all four houses. But he was still petty, cruel, vindictive, and held grudges like no one she'd ever met. He was arrogant and moody, quick to anger and incredibly suspicious of others. Not to mention he had the face of a starving vulture and loomed just as eerily. And he still wouldn't deign to acknowledge Hermione's many accomplishments! He hadn't even turned up for her interview, the bastard.

She respected him more than she did most but she didn't like the man. In front of others she'd be as polite as propriety required but in private, well, he could just stuff it, couldn't he? She wasn't a silly schoolgirl anymore and her little crush on him was long in the past. Besides, it was all based on intellect. He was the smartest man in the school when she was young, save Professor Dumbledore. And Professor Dumbledore was not one to entertain any sort of romantic thoughts about. Neither was Professor Snape, come to it, but at least he was rather young, comparatively. Still ugly, though.

Sighing, Hermione settled into her thoughts. It was going to be a long night unless she got very, very lucky.

She didn't see another soul until sunset. Not even the fauna would venture out into the scorching heat of the day but as dusk approached, life emerged.

Creeping, crawling creatures of all sorts scurried along the path and in the brush edging the forest. Deer grazed quietly, safe from the werewolves for the time being, and Hermione would swear she'd heard the grizzled roar of a muggle car engine. Recognizing it as Arthur's long-lost Ford Anglia, Hermione was reassured. The flying car had a history of watching over the magical folk of the castle.

Hermione ambled up from her seat against the metal bars and stretched, reaching up to the sky and sighing in relief at the cracking sound emanating from her spine. After cracking her neck and fingers, she looked around, hoping for some sign of recent human activity to give her hope of a rescue.

As luck would have it, she heard a noise. She couldn't quite identify it but it sounded like a groaning, grunting noise. She'd suspect an animal if the moans hadn't started up.

Peering into the approaching gloom Hermione followed the sound into the trees. Not her smartest moment, heading into the forest without a working wand, but spending the night outside without any cover was even less enticing.

Stepping gingerly, Hermione avoided the worst of the prickers that attempted to impale her still-bare feet. After a time the noises she'd heard became clearer. Or louder, at least.

Pausing to squint into the trees Hermione saw two figures. She might've sighed in relief if she hadn't taken a closer look. The taller of the two figures, a man, was leaning back against a tree trunk, his robes parted down the front to accommodate the female figure kneeling at his feet.

Hermione gasped, grasping the situation. It was a wonder the two didn't hear her but they were understandably occupied. Backing away slowly, Hermione tried to remain inconspicuous. And she tried so hard not to hear what was going on but snippets seeped into her cerebellum.

"Yesss... Fuck… k my cock you…. Ungh, little witch…" were all groaned in a deep, masculine voice and peppered with the light, keening moans of the woman on her knees.

Despite her embarrassment Hermione was fascinated. Fascinated and intrigued. A slow throbbing built in her abdomen as she internalized the words. She'd had a fair amount of sexual encounters in her life but none so desperate or clandestine as what she was witnessing. The woman seemed ravenous, greedy for the man before her and incredibly anxious to please him. Hermione could understand the sentiment but had never felt as driven to please a man sexually as the woman before her.

Against her better judgement, Hermione crept forward, trying to gain a better view but cautious of being seen herself.

"Ungh, oh fuck… suck me dry… deserve this…" Each phrase was groaned, low and almost inaudible despite Hermione's growing proximity to the couple.

Perhaps it was her heavy breathing, perhaps she stepped too quickly and scraped against a tree too loudly. Either way, she was wholly unprepared when next she looked up and into the eyes of Severus Snape. Her gasp was quick and frightened. She'd never seen Snape, nor anyone she knew, in such a position and the effect was quite jarring. She couldn't breathe. Hermione literally could not breathe and nearly fainted, her eyes going blurry round the edges before she recalled that her body needed oxygen to survive.

Her next intake of breath was shallow, terrified as she was, and her Gryffindor courage seemed limited to maintaining eye contact with her former professor as he reached his climax. His face contorted in a sneer, a curious expression of pleasure, she thought. Snape's head tipped back and his eyes went to half mask, his groan of ecstasy echoing through the trees. Even so, he held her gaze, not once glancing down at the woman feeding his pleasure.

His eyes finally fell shut as the sounds of his climax faded and he slumped against the tree behind him, pressing the woman before him away. Eyes still closed, Snape finished doing up his trousers and fished in his pocket, flipping a coin at the woman.

"For services rendered," he sneered, opening his eyes and straightening, preparing to turn away from the girl's genuflect form. Her huff of anger was loud as the girl struggled to regain her feet.

"Fuck you, Snape," she hissed. "How dare you call me a whore?" Her eagerness to please seemed to be overcome quite quickly.

It took Hermione a moment but at the woman's words she recognized her. The shrewish, pitchy voice that haunted Hermione's Hogwarts days was too recognizable to go unnoticed. Jaw dropping in shock and fascination Hermione was stunned to discover that the woman who had spent the better part of the last fifteen minutes on her knees was Lavender Brown.

Lavender Brown. As in currently-dating-Ronald-Weasley Lavender Brown. As in the-bitch-who-slept-with-her-ex-boyfriend-while-Hermione-was-stuck-in-France-at-a-conference-with-her-Arithmancy-Master Lavender Brown. As in always-ate-lunch-with-cow-faced-Crowfoot -and-made-sure-to-belittle-Hermione-at-every-opportunity Lavender Brown. And she was on her knees for Snape? What was the world coming to?

More to the point, what on Earth would Ron say when he found out? Hermione was fairly sure that swapping spit with someone who'd just swallowed Severus Snape's little soldiers would make Ronald gag worse than the rebounded slug hex of their second year.

Mouth sliding into a grin at the thought of her cheating ex slurping Snape's leavings, (oh come on, she'd tell him what happened. Tomorrow.) Hermione refocused.

"You are a whore. No lady would have succumbed so easily. Or performed so enthusiastically. Take your money and go," Snape said, eyes flashing with disdain.

Huffing with righteous anger, Lavender gritted her teeth but complied with Snape's request. Not before she'd stooped to pick up the coin, though, Hermione noticed. _Huh. Fancy that_ , Hermione thought. _She is a whore._

Gaze flicking back to Snape, Hermione realized the man was striding toward her and she flinched, attempting to back away from the fury in his gaze.

"And you, Miss Granger, did you enjoy the show?" Snape drawled, grasping Hermione's arm and trapping her between a large tree trunk and his body. "Answer me, girl," he demanded but she remained mute.

"It doesn't matter but I know you did. I'd think a know-it-all like you would know better than to stare into the eyes of a Legilimens," Snape's words were all smoke and fire, whispered as they were against her skin. This close she could smell his musky scent mixing with the stale smell of firewhiskey on his breath. She could see the stringy greasiness of his hair and the crooked, yellowed tint of his teeth, even in the failing light of the forest.

Hermione was frozen again, unsure of what to do. This was Severus Snape, after all. A consummate bastard and ugly git to be sure, but still, the man was a hero. He'd saved Hermione's life more than once, saved all their lives, really, and he was arguably the most powerful wizard in the British Isles, if not the entire world. He was certainly one of the most knowledgeable and she distantly recalled that he also happened to be an incredibly accomplished duelist.

Leaning forward, Snape pressed his nose to her cheek and trailed it down below her earlobe and into her hair. "I asked you a question, Miss Granger," he intoned and her skin broke out in goosebumps as his protruding proboscis traced along her jaw. Hermione sucked her breath in through her teeth, shamefully realizing that the throbbing in her lower regions only increased with Snape's proximity, as did the hardening of her nipples.

What was going on? This was Snape, after all. Hermione's eyes flicked up as Snape pulled away, leering at her.

"Hmmm, so you do like it. What a surprisingly good girl you are, Miss Granger," Snape said, sliding his tongue across those crooked teeth and inhaling deeply.

Hermione saw hunger in his eyes but it was chased by a strange, unrecognizable emotion. Too late she registered the feeling of a wand pressing into her side.

"But I don't have time for you right now," Snape said, his voice laced with some kind of regret. " _Obliviate_."

A/N: First off, if you made it through that, congratulations. You deserve a cookie for slogging through all that drivel. Second, if Hermione's tone seems less sexual or more innocent that is intentional. She is four years younger in this chapter than the previous one and she hasn't spent the better part of four years longing for a certain tall, dark professor. Nor has she had the rude sexual awakening that Severus does, eventually, put her through. Third, I do not plan to do too much with the past aside from setting up the story. I may cover the next four years in one chapter or four chapters, but beyond that I don't see them taking up much of the word count for this story. And finally, if you have any suggestions or requests, please do review. I can't promise to fulfill each request but I do promise to take each into consideration. And thank you. I do hope you've somewhat enjoyed things thus far.


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